


Dealer's Choice

by Vera



Category: White Collar
Genre: Character of Color, Community: 12in2010, Community: Month of June, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-13
Updated: 2010-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1995 and future con man, Neal Caffrey is working in Vegas.  When a beautiful older woman appears to need rescuing, his chivalry gets the better of his sense.</p><p>Turns out she didn't need saving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dealer's Choice

"I'm sorry," he said, rattling the handle of the locked door again. He banged the door with his fist. "Hey," he yelled, "Hey! Let us out!" She was sitting on the small room's only chair. Well, room. It was a lot more like a cupboard. A band of neon light was cast across the door from a window high in one wall. He can pace two steps before he had to turn around, brushing her legs as he did. She worried, briefly, that he'll catch her fragile dress or stockings, that they'll pull or ladder, but that seems a trivial concern, under the circumstances. Perfect grooming isn't a priority when you're locked in a cupboard with a man young enough to be your gr—. Young enough, at any rate, and terribly foolish.

"I'm sorry, I thought those men were going to hurt you," he said, stopping at last and leaning against the door. He was a long drink of water, brown hair fell across his eyes, his hands were tucked into his pants pockets. The light splashed across his shirt and jacket; they were cheap material but well-made. His shoes were clean, his hair was neat, he was clean-shaven. She couldn't shake the conviction that rescuing middle-aged ladies wasn't something he did regularly. She was quite sure he'd help himself before he'd help someone across the road. Or both. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and started flipping something across his fingers, nervously. It was a casino chip.

"Are you old enough to gamble, young man?" she asked. At that, he smiled, slowly at first, blooming into a broad, gorgeous grin that made her heart skip. Or perhaps she was just hungry for her dinner, the reservations now certainly missed. Where _was_ Byron?

"Sure I am. I'm here to make my fortune." His smile brightened and he tossed the chip up high and snatched it out of the air like he was reaching for stars.

"Everyone's in Las Vegas to make someone's fortune, honey. It's rarely their own." She felt a little bad when she saw how her words dimmed his shine, but then, his untimely "rescue" was the reason she was locked in a cupboard.

"I really am sorry," he said. "Those men, they're not good guys. I thought —. Why were you meeting them here anyway?"

"That's not your business."

"It got me locked in a cupboard with a beautiful woman. Doesn't that make it my business?"

"The world doesn't hand you everything you want on a platter— I can't keep calling you 'young man'. What's your name?"

"I'm Neal. And you're June."

She raised an eyebrow at him. Of course. Everyone was a potential mark. She wondered how young he'd been when he'd started learning his trade. His misjudgement of the situation suggested naivety and inexperience, but his manner was smooth as the lapels of his jacket.

"You can't make your fortune without good and thorough information." The shine had returned. "So, those guys?"

"You don't keep a fortune by handing information away."

He tipped an imaginary hat at her. "Mystery Lady. I like it."

She nodded at the chip that flashed over his knuckles, back and forth. "Lucky chip?"

"At first I wasn't sure, but I am locked in here with you. Maybe my luck is looking up?" He handed it to her. "A Sands $5; a little bit of history before it all goes."

"Oh, now that does bring back memories." She ran her thumb around the edge, imagining the jaunty cowgirl and her hour glass, not visible where she sat, out of the light. She wanted to ask where he got it. But Sands memorabilia was doing a fast trade and she supposed there were a lot around, dug out of kitchen drawers and those boxes of grandad's old stuff in the garage. Or rescued from their life as replacements for lost checkers or backgammon pieces. It seemed the height of luxury, when she was young, to treat casino chips like they were nothing, to laugh in Lady Luck's face and tempt Fate. She had been — was — lucky. But it had nothing to do with pipe dreams of what you didn't have and everything to do with treasuring what you had.

She held the chip out to Neal. "I hope it does bring you luck."

He shook his head and closed his hand around hers. "You keep it. I don't believe I'll need good luck tokens. I've got me." His smile seemed briefly sober, then brightened mischievously. "And, of course, the memory of our special time together. "

Her laugh was cut short by the sound of two sets of quick, firm steps outside and Byron's voice. "June? June?"

"In here," she called as Neal started banging on the door. It wasn't long before the door had opened and Byron's strong arms were wrapped around her; she realised how chilled she was. After a moment, he released her.

"How do you get into these scrapes at your age?"

She cupped his cheek in her hand. "You're in no position to complain about my adventurousness, old man. Anyway, it wasn't my fault; it was this young man's."

"What young man?"

"Sorry, boss," came a voice from outside, "He slipped past me too quick."

June flipped the casino chip, then tucked it in her purse. "Never mind. Don't we have a party to go to? I'm starving."


End file.
